Power Play
by NormaJean Beausoleil
Summary: AU, slash. Jasper is in an abusive relationship. Emmett, the friendly bouncer at a club where Jasper's boyfriend frequents, helps Jasper out of his bad situation. Bad summary is bad. Rated T for now: includes !evil! Edward, allusions to sex, descriptions of violence, homo-romantic pairing between men. Emmett/Jasper ; Em/Jas
1. Not a Superhero

**a/n: i've never written a twilight fanfic before. i'm quite proud of my !evil! edward. if you don't like that idea, by all means, don't read this story. He's quite a meanie here. I'm rating this T for now. If you guys think it should be M, let me know. I'll change it. **

**Warnings: Descriptions of violence and allusions to sex. **

**Disclaimer: Steph Meyer owns Twilight. But this story is my own musing of her characters. **

Chapter 1: Not a Superhero

The pulsing bass of the nightclub made my head hurt more. It had been a long, hot day at work, and I was in no mood to be in the sweltering, loud, dark space. My entire body hurt with fatigue, and my legs and feet were sore. I have an exam in business ethics tomorrow. I should be resting or studying. I need to be sleeping.

Even as these thoughts pushed and pulled in my mind, I scanned the room, looking for my boyfriend of almost four years. I couldn't see him, but he was no doubt in the middle of that sweaty mess of individuals pounding the dance floor. I made my way up the steps in the back of the room to the elevated bar. It stood mezzanine with tables hugging the dance floor, allowing those with drinks to spectate the buoyant masses on the floor and the dancers who hung in cages above it. A DJ spun on the stage, flanked by gyrating entertainers, playing the SM roles the club targeted in its clientele.

I rest my elbows on the cool bar, letting it take the weight off my weary feet. I gazed again at the crowd and saw him. His perfectly styled, wavy hair and flashing amber eyes were unmistakable. His muscular arms and firmed body were kinetic with self confidence and allure. I smiled contentedly. Then I noticed the hand lingering upon his chest, where I had caressed lovingly this morning when we awoke in my student apartment. It was connected to a spritely young girl, high schooler perhaps. She wore too much make up, but her body managed that amazing balance between firm, soft, and utterly perky. I gazed at the others dancing around him. All had the same alternation of expressions on their faces, shy appeal, attracted by his strength. They were fruit ready to be picked, and he looked at them and encouraged their baiting. Teasing them. At least, I hoped he was teasing them.

I re-inspected the crowd around him: four boys and three girls. They were a homogenous group: young, lithe, bubbling, and crooning. They embodied both concepts of the word "fairy." They glistened with sweat and danced tirelessly. I envied their youthful vigor. I blinked. I also envied their bodies—young, flushed, and vibrant. I sighed. I reflected on the steady decline of my own body. Was I really only twenty? I felt eighty. My body had grown pale and thinner over the past two years. It was the result of the stress of college and tenuous relations with my family. College stretched my mental ability, my job stole all my physical energy, my family and I were on thin terms since I came out at my boyfriend's bidding, and my relationship with him…well, I push though everything else. I can push though that. He wanted more. Always more. More control. More responsiveness. That's why he pushed us with more pain play. That's why my body was littered with multicolored bruises. I rubbed my wrists, feeling the yellow and red bruises underneath black fingerless gloves. I remembered the strain against the ropes. I did it to myself, really. I went ballistic when he brought out that damned noose last night. Luckily, he didn't force it on me. I did not find asphyxiation nearly as titillating as he did. His eyes glowed when we talked about it, trying to get me to calm down, to relax. "It will only hurt you more, baby, if you struggle like that." He did compromise, using his hands on my throat last night. His eyes glowed with predatory glee as he did it. His animalistic desire burnt bright in his face. I remember his caress of the bruises on my neck this morning as I kissed him before I left. Shuddering, his pronouncement of "beautiful" echoes in my ears.

A glass is set down in front of me with a clink. I look up, up, and up to see a familiar boyish face on the body of a grizzly bear. He opens his mouth, and speaks with sounds coming through perfectly white teeth. "Cold, Jasper? It's only 95 degrees in here."

I feel my face go slack, as my mind slowly processes what he just asked. I rub my hands over my face, waking myself up. "Nah. Just a little tired," I respond. "What are you doing behind the bar? Don't you usually bounce?"

"There was a call out, so I'm subbing. Doing a pretty good job of it, if I say so myself. The tips are nice." He flashes me a smile. "Rex tells me you don't usually take anything harder," his warm brown eyes lower slowly to my glass, then wander back up to my eyes even slower. "You need something to warm you up?"

"I don't think that's a good idea. Big test tomorrow," I reply, drinking half of my soda water.

His eyebrows rise. "I didn't know you go to school. I thought you worked two jobs. I know I've seen your cute ass at that Beanery Café," He replies.

"I work two jobs to pay for going to school," I reply. I feel the need to look back at my boyfriend. I rubberneck and scan the crowd. I see him, lips-locked with one of those young tink boys. Anger and jealousy flash over me. My eyes narrow and I see red.

A light caress whispers over one of the bruises of my neck and I startle back to see my bartender's hand retreating. "What is _that_, Jasper?"

"It's…" I hiss, snapping at him. "It's…" I feel like a cornered animal. Even I can hear the faulting of my voice. My stomach lurches. I feel freezing and my body is sweating. Is there a speaker broken somewhere? What is that loud buzzing?

**a/n: please review! *jasper gives you puppy eyes* **


	2. You don't wear shining armor to a club

Chapter 2: You don't wear shining armor to a rave club

In one smooth motion, the bouncer turned bartender gently but firmly shoves aside the patrons who were sitting near the blonde, jumps over the counter, and catches the blonde as he collapses. He picks up the man, light deadweight in his arms, and carries him outside.

"Jones, get me a bottle of water, or something, will you?" The broad shouldered man requested one of the bouncers.

"Finally got your crush in your arms, Emmett?" the dark man smiled. "You roofied him, didn't you?" He joked.

"He got overheated," Emmett grimaced. "Just get him some water," he ordered, pure concern shining through his barking tone.

"Going," Jones replied and disappeared in the club.

Emmett looked around and found a clean-ish spot next to the building about thirty feet from the door. He gently kneeled then put Jasper tenderly down on the ground. The blonde slowly stirred.

* * *

_*lets put a line break here, shall we?*_

* * *

I feel hard, cold ground press against my rear and back. My senses belatedly tell me that I'm sitting up. My head is pounding. I moan and pull my hand to my face. I slowly open my eyes to have bright darkness assault my optical nerves. I feel a firm hand steady my shoulder and comforting fingers comb through my hair. I want to lean into the touch, but I don't want to move my pounding head.

"You feel any better?" The friendly bouncer asks me.

"No, worse really," I whisper. The sound painfully reverberates in my head.

"Here you go, Em," one of the bouncers hands him a bottle of water.

He opens it and hands it to me.

"Thanks," I take a swig. I can feel it, icy cold, draining down my esophagus and hitting my stomach.

"Ugh," I moan. I glance up to see his boyish face shadowed with worry. "Um, thanks, M," my voice goes up in question. "M? Like in James Bond?" Why I'm thinking about James Bond, while sprawled on the concrete, is beyond me.

The man laughs lightly. "No, Em, as in short for Emmett."

I sit for a moment, quietly, gathering my strength. Emmett stays beside me, his hand still on my shoulder, even though there are no longer fingers in my hair.

I sit forward, and begin to stand. "I should tell Edward…" I start, but his large, warm hand pushes against my chest.

"You should stay seated for a bit longer," he presses me backwards until I rest against the wall again.

His concern is endearing, but I really should get Edward and go home. "I need to—"

"Stay out here and drink more water." He presses the bottle of water back in my hand. I didn't even realize I had set it down. "I'll go get your boyfriend."

My mind flashes to the last moment I saw him, right before I blacked out, his lips on the lips of one of those tinks. I blink quickly and can't help but let a few tears bubble over. I'm overwhelmed, with everything.

"Sorry," I bumble, curling up my legs to my chest, hiding my face in one of my hands, wiping away the tears. My other hand tightens on the half empty, sweating plastic bottle of cold water. I feel myself being pulled against a firm and strangely familiar chest, a large arm encircles me and a hand is carding through my hair again.

I hear Emmett cooing shushes as I cry hideously. I wipe snot onto my hand and cry harder. I feel utterly disgusting, sitting on the ground outside of a night club with a friendly, sympathizing bouncer. I force myself to calm down, and take a few deep breaths.

"I need Edward," I plead. I can hear my voice crack on his name. "I need to leave," my voice gets a little stronger.

"Okay, sit tight, Jazz," Emmett rolls back onto his heels, then stands up. I glance to see his broad shouldered back retreat towards the door to the club. He is really built.

* * *

_*i like line breaks, don't you?*_

* * *

Emmett enters the club and proceeds to one of the side walls which is lined with a chain-link fence. He climbs it to about six feet, and peers across the dance floor. His eyes narrow as he sees Edward, still obliviously dancing with an overeager group of teenagers. Several of them are petting him, and he returns the touches with an overconfident smugness.

Emmett jumps down and prowls to the man, mentally ranting, "what a douche" over and over.

"Hey," he none-too-gently taps the panther-like man on the shoulder.

Perfectly gelled hair turns and gives the man a once over. "I'm not into your type, bouncer," is his snide retort.

"You're not mine, either," Emmett scoffs. "Your boyfriend," he says the word loudly over all the music, so the sprites can hear, "is outside. He got overheated and fainted."

Edward's attention, and peck, is grabbed by one of the more audacious girls. "You aren't leaving us, are you?" She pouts.

Edward leans towards Emmett. "If he can't take the heat, he should go home."

As Edward leaned back, Emmett grabbed his shirt and kept him near. "Dude, he was crying."

Edward flicked the larger man's hands off of him. "Then I really don't want to be around him. He's useless like that." He stated coldly.

Emmett's eyes widened in shock, but he quickly resumed his professional coolness. "I'll get him a cab." He walked away, one final glance over his shoulder once he reached the edge of the dancing mob, he saw the girl messily shoving her tongue down his throat as he grabbed her breast through her sequined tank top.

* * *

_*last line break, I swear!*_

* * *

Emmett looks livid when he exits the club. I've calmed down and see him stalking towards me, fuming. Edward is not behind him. I sigh. I guess I'm going home alone.

"It's alright, Emmett, he doesn't really do the taking-care-of-others thing," I say when Emmett gets into earshot.

His scowling expression instantly softens to one of pity, and it pisses me off a little. I push myself up from the ground, catch the wall as the sidewalk leans a little, but then straighten up.

Emmett takes a big breath, as if about to say something, but then doesn't. We look at each other for a moment.

He sighs. "I'll get you a cab." His hand shoots out to the street, and I quickly grab it and pull it back.

"It's fine, Emmett." I can't afford a $10 cab fare this week. Maybe in a couple days, but if I overdraw my account tonight there will be a fifty dollar fee to deal with, and that's ten hours of work to add on in the coming weeks. I press my hand to my head, hurting from the exertion of doing mental math at this point.

"You're not going to drive home in your state." He says plaintively.

"I don't have a car," I respond. "Thanks for the water, and everything. I'll see you later." I start to slowly walk down the street. I'm about two miles from campus, and another mile and half to my apartment. It's an easy enough walk split up: from home to work to the club and then Edward drives us to wherever we will stay the night. Walking straight home, right now, however, seems arduously long.

"Hey, hey! I didn't know you lived around here." Emmett easily catches up to me and easily matches my long strides.

"I don't…really," I say reluctantly.

"You go to the university? So, do you live in the mews? Or Banneman Hall?"

I sigh. "No, I live in Lincoln Apartments." I pull my old, stretched out cardigan closer to my body.

Emmett's hand reaches out and grabs my arm, stopping me. In a split second, he releases me, as if my skin burned him, but then puts his hand on my shoulder. Has he always been this much taller than me?

"You live over there? And you want to walk it? Do you want to pass out on a street somewhere? Do you have a—" He stops his rant abruptly. He looks in my face, searching for something. A flash of decisiveness brightens his eyes, his hand drifts down to hold mine. It feels warm and comforting around my bony fingers. How does one get a hand so large? So muscled? So—

"Taxi!" Emmett yells and holds out his other hand. One of the cabs next to the door of the club pulls towards us.

"Emmett!" I hiss.

He flashes me a smile. "That's the first time you said my name."

He's grinning ear to ear now, the jerk. He opens the door and pulls me towards the space. "Lincoln Apartments," he leans down to tell the cabbie, pulling me downwards then, towards the seat.

"Emmett, no, I don't have the money—"

"Is that what all your pussyfooting was about?" He pushes me to sit down. For once in my life, I wish I had more physical prowess to combat this pushy bouncer.

"Here's a twenty. Don't forget to tip the nice man," Emmett says over my protests and he actually has the gall to pick up my legs from the knees and place them into the car. "Get some rest, Jasper." He shuts the door forcefully and slaps the roof of the car twice.

Bam bam! The noise makes me wince as it seems to echo in my pulsing forehead. The cab swerves onto the street and I hold my stomach, willing not to pass out again.


	3. I'm Not Your Boyfriend, Baby

Chapter Three: I'm no your Boyfriend, Baby

Millions of thoughts are screaming through my head as I walk to the club. I need to talk to Edward, but I should find Emmett first and give him back his money.

I enter the club reluctantly. This time I'm looking for Emmett—I know Ed is somewhere purposefully lost in the crowd. Another bouncer, an huge man, of course, named Timmy, told me Emmett was working tonight, but had stepped inside for something.

I drift to the bar, to my normal spot, perfect for scanning the crowd. The tall thin bartender smiles at me and gives me my normal ice water. I give him a quick smile, and turn back to the crowd. A moment later I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look back to see the same bartender, placing a glass of dark liquid in front of me.

"Looks like you need it," he says, his face emotionless. His eyes, however, speak of an instant understanding that penetrates me.

I blush full out, and nod. He's the first person all day to say anything, although my wearing a ribbed turtleneck in the middle of a heat spike in May has caused me to receive a few strange looks.

I'm thankful for the dark of the club. The shame in my cheeks is duly hidden by the dim lighting as my bruised neck and arms are hidden by unseasonable clothing.

A hand settles in the middle of my back, between my shoulder blades, and I startle. In an instant a settle on my firmest "fuck off" face, and turn to see who may be hitting on me. Emmett leans over to the bar, and greets the bartender—Luke—with casual warmness. For some reason, I'm shocked to see him.

Emmett, the human cross of boyish charm and grizzly bear sinew, turns to me and smiles beguilingly.

"Hey, Jasper."

His voice is slightly more than a whisper, but I can hear it distinctly over the din of techno music.

"Hey, Emmett," I greet and his smile broadens, as if I just told him he won a hundred dollars. I dig in my pockets, looking down as if I could see in them, and hear his voice sensually murmured into my ear.

"The semester just ended. We had tons of students last weekend. How were your exams?"

I glance up, and pull my twenty dollar bill out of my pocket, palming it for now.

"They were fine. A little stressful, as always. I had a large paper due for one of my courses, and that was the worst of it. You can never tell if it's good enough when you turn it in. It—" I interrupt myself, realizing how I was droning on and mildly complaining. I feel myself blush again, and it darkens as I berate myself of blushing like a twelve year old girl.

"It?" Emmett encourages.

I shake my head. "It's over. How have you been?" I turn my back to the bar, leaning back lightly, so I can be turned towards Emmett and the dance floor at the same time.

"Okay," he grinds, and my attention is back on him. His large brown eyes turn conflicted. "There's this cute blonde I've liked for a while now. They're kind hearted, and hard worker…"

"Good sense of humor?" I add. He laughs.

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm sure they like walks on a beach at sunset as well. Any way, I haven't seen them in a bit, and I've been worried."

I look at his morose face, and turn back to the crowd. It's hard to keep my placid cool friends-only demeanor when he's baring such a part of himself to me. "Do you have any shared friends or acquaintances? Can you ask around about them?" I suggest.

He leans forward. "I have been, but the things they say just make me worry more."

My eyebrows rise. "Bad things?"

"Not directly. Just a lot of mystery, and enough common hints at something bad going on. I'm worried about them being used."

I blink, instantly concerned for this mystery person. "Used?" I query, taking a sip of the dark drink the bartender—Luke—gave me earlier. It's a Shirley Temple. I smile despite myself.

"Yeah, used." His arm is on my shoulder again as he whispers the two little words in my ear. For some reason, they pour warm silk over my heart as I hear his pure worry etch through the words.

"It—" I begin and feel a hand roughly pull at my wrist. My drink spills messily over my hand.

"Jasper!"

Edward is in front of me. I smile at him, and his normal slight grimace in my presence turns into a full out glower. I feel myself unconsciously pull away from him, and he snaps me towards him. I stumble, and quickly put my drink on the bar before being pulled violently towards the bathroom. I can barely hear the beginning of a rant as he talks away from me, pulling my arm in tow.

"You have no right…He's…You're mine…You can't….I won't allow it!" Bits of his angry diatribe flow back to me as we jerkily travel across the less filled part of the dance floor to the bathrooms on the far side.

I can feel old bruises hurting under the top of his grip and new ones forming at the bottom. The light from the bathroom seems blinding and I'm yanked into it.

"What the fuck-" Edward throws me against the side of a stall just inside the door, "were you thinking?" He throws a punch and it lands across my jaw. I fall back and instantly clutch my throbbing face. Shock inundates my mind. He hit me on the face! He never hurts me where it is obvious! What is—

But my thoughts are interrupted as he pulls me up and thrusts me against the hard porcelain of a sink. The surface hurts my lower back, and I clutch behind me to keep myself upright. I glance around and see two men receiving blow jobs and the handicap stall locked with at least three sets of legs under it.

"Never mind. I know what you're thinking," Edward seethes. "I know every thought in your head, little Jasper." He presses his hard on against my leg, and grabs my face harshly, fingers pressing over my tender jaw.

I can do nothing but stare at him, shocked and utterly scared. I can feel his hot hand under mine. I'm trying to pull his hand off of me. Maybe this is why he ties me up at night. Maybe this is why he makes me so powerless?

He grabs my wrist with ease and slams me backwards. The faucet jabs into my tender lower back and the tops of my shoulder blades are pressed against the shiny metal mirror.

I scramble in panic. There's a voice somewhere, muttering something pathetically.

"Before you even say it, I know what you want." Edward pronounces and pulls me forward.

Finally, mouth works, firmly declaring, "No!"

I'm pushed back brutally, and my head cracks against the wall. There are flashes of bright light and an encroaching darkness around the edges of the bathroom. There's also a sharp scraping pain in my back, but I start to slip down from the sink nonetheless as Edward disappears from in front of me.


	4. Hatchbacks and Bickering

Chapter 5: Hatch-backs and Bickering

"Jasper!"

There is a crease between Emmett's eyebrows.

"Huh?" I look at him. Wasn't I just with Edward?

I moan as I sit up. My back is killing me, and my head doesn't feel too good either.

"What's going on?" I glance back at Emmett's cute eyebrow forehead wrinkle. I can't seem to get enough air in my lungs, and I feel like the back of my head is sweating. I touch my scalp, my hair and then fingers wet, and I flinch when I feel the sting of my nails against my skin. I pull my hand back, and the bright streak of red on it catches my eye.

"That's not good," I mutter to myself. Emmett's eyes go big, the friendly little crease disappears, and he whips out a walkie-talkie and speaks quickly into it. I notice an annoying buzz again and vaguely wonder why I keep on having trouble with consciousness whenever Emmett's around, but then his arm is around my back and another is under my knees and I'm lifted off the ground.

The buzz immediately dissipates and I clutch onto Emmett's shirt.

"Put me down, Emmett!" I want to screech at him, but it comes out a little wimpy.

"Not a chance," he replies, not making any eye contact with me as he kicks open the bathroom door and proceeds to speed across the dance floor. Patrons make a way for him as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea. He only stops for Timmy who we meet right before we exit the club.

"Get that passed out piece of trash in the bathroom out of the club and banned," he says. His voice is deathly cold and impersonal, and I shiver slightly. He opens the outer door with a quick push of his foot against the kick plate. We are hit with a wave of hot, humid May air, and as soon as I get my bearings, we're walking down the street. I look at Emmett's face and his expression is darkly overcast.

"Emmett, are you okay?" I ask, deciding politeness would be a good way to get what I want—him to put me down—when he is so angry.

"Am I okay?" he snorts with derision. He then glances over me and I can feel the anger drain from him. His arms loosen lightly their steel hold, but I still don't believe he would drop me any time soon. He walks a little slower now, and I wonder where we're headed.

"Wh—"

"Sorry," he blurts, and looks cutely abashed. "I'm fine. Let's get you to a hospital." We reach a blue hatchback, and he puts me down, gently, as if I may shatter any moment.

"Oh no, Emmett. I'm not going to a hospital." I feel myself stiffen at the idea of insurmountable medical bills.

Emmett gentlemanly opens the door, and I level my best no-shit stare-down.

I repeat myself. "No hospital."

He looks like I kicked his puppy. "You just got a head injury!"

"It was just a little bump!"

"You're bleeding!"

I tenderly put my fingers back to the tender spot under my matted hair. It's sticky, but not wet. "No," I resist the temptation to slightly smile, "it stopped."

"You could have a concussion," he argues, crossing his arms over his chest like an eight year old.

I mimic him, "But I don't."

"How do you know?"

I want to say, 'I just do,' but pause. He starts to grin slightly with satisfaction. Competitive nature kicks my logic into high gear. "I would be getting nauseated or sleepy, and I'm neither." I want to stomp my foot to drive the point home, but instead I stay standing firmly next to the car. He looks a little put out, and I go on the offensive. "Don't you have to be working?"

"It's a Tuesday night—Timmy will be fine. He's new, but he can handle it," he explains. His face morphs into the kicked-puppy look again and he asks pleadingly, "Get in the car, please."

"No hospitals," I say, daring him with a raised eyebrow.

As if it is the worst concession in the world, he agrees, sighing, "No hospital."

I sit down and feel the back of my undershirt stick to my lower back. I must have gotten some water from the sink on it.

Emmett climbs into the driver's seat, and as the ignition turns, Nine Inch Nails comes blaring over the speakers. He immediate turns the volume down, and apologizes quietly.

I shake my head. "The Fragile is a good album," I complement even more quietly.

He smiles as he two-stop pulls us out of the parallel parking spot.

"Where to?" I ask once again at his disposal.

"Your place or mine," he replies, glancing over at me. "Somewhere we can get you cleaned up."

I smirk. "Not possible," I quip.

He laughs. "You must not have a brain injury if you can toss out dirty jokes." He pulls up to a red light. "Either that," he looks over at me, and I'm captured by his earnest gaze, "Or you're a really good actor."

I squirm lightly and avert my gaze, watching the red light turn green. I nod at it, and Emmett turns his attention back to the road, and pulls through the intersection. "I've had better days."

"I hope you're breaking up with that asshole," he seethes.

I glance over at him, but then turn my eyes back to the road, not really seeing it. "Yeah, we're through." I want to curl my leg up to my chest, but decide against putting my foot on his seat. Instead, I lightly rub part of the bruise on my neck. I remember last night clearly, and I know I will not forget it for a long time.

* * *

**a/n: *emmett gives you smoldering eyes* Hey ladies, normajean would like you to review her stuff. *lifts eyebrow seductively* how about it?**


	5. The Token Flashback Chapter

Chapter Six: the token Flashback Chapter

_I sat reading a novel on the living room couch. The television was blessedly off, and it was wonderful just to veg out in a quiet, peaceful room. I sighed and took a sip of my Earl Grey. As the steam rose from the cup, I reflected on the past few weeks. Finals were difficult. The past semester was difficult…all those classes. Jobs were busy as always. I took a deep breath, and looked back at page three hundred eighty seven. _

_I heard a key in the door, and it opened to Edward. His amber eyes took in the room, and my spot on the couch. He closed and locked the door behind him, and prowled across the room. He wasted no time in pushing my book aside and straddling me lap. _

"_Hey, Eddie." _

_He looked into my eyes, calculating. I took a breath to say something, but his hands were in my hair pulling and he kissed me hard. Tongue and teeth stole the words out of my mouth. He moaned and pushed me back. I relent—It's habit giving into him. I kiss him back, suppressing the regretful twinge of a lost quiet evening of relaxation._

"_You're mine, tonight, all mine." He sucks on one of the fading bruises on my neck from the time he strangled me with his hands. _

"_I'm always yours," I reply, hissing with pain. I can feel my chest arch into his as his fingers caress my sides. _

"_No," he replies darkly. "You belong to your jobs, your school…" His kisses turn to bites._

"_You wanted this place. You wanted me to live on my own," I softly argue, hoping that my massage of his shoulders softens the stipulation. _

_He grabs my wrists and shoves me harder into the overstuffed couch. "And I enjoy it," he leers. My shirt is pulled off and thrown somewhere. He kisses down my chest. _

"_You should get your nipple pierced," he says. _

_I melt as he sucks on the body part. "With what money?" _

_He bites, hard. My nails pinch the skin in my fists. He glances up at me. _

"_Okay, no money talk," I say. He stares at me some more. _

"_Let's go to the bedroom," I suggest. _

_CUT: PM me for this scene. Basically, Edward blindfolds Jasper and then hurts him physically by cutting off his air flow during sex. Jasper does not enjoy it, but is unable to talk or tell his boyfriend "no" during the act. Jasper wakes up alone, and takes a shower by himself, thinking: _

_I can't believe he would hurt me like that. I can't believe he's completely shattered my trust. When did I become so powerless? When did I become a thing to him? How do I ever recover from this? _

"Jasper?"

I blink in shock. A tear slips from each eye, and I look forward at another car parked in front of us. "Oh," I remark, intelligently. "How long have we been stopped?" I look over at Emmett. The caring expression on his face breaks my heart a little more.

"Where did you go, Jasper?" A soft hand cups my cheek and a gentle thumb rubs off a tear from streaking down my face. "It doesn't look like a good place."

"No," I respond. "I guess it wasn't."

"Let's go in," he says, but stays seated looking at me.

I take a deep breath, some snot catching in my nose. I exhale through my mouth. "Okay."

We walk up a cracked sidewalk to an old but nicely kept apartment complex. Emmett swipes a card and we enter the front door. I follow Emmett's back, not taking in much of the hallways and elevator we pass through.


	6. Hurt, Comfort, and Resolution

Chapter Seven: After the Hurt, comes the Comfort, and the Resolution

We reach door number 115 and Emmett pulls out his keys. He gallantly opens the door for me, and I duck my head in thanks and go in. An icy cold breeze hits me as I enter the darkened hallway. I wander inside and enter a living room.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asks me.

"Um…sure. Water?" I ask, feeling awkward.

"Got it." He disappears into a hallway perpendicular to the entryway.

I wander in the room. He has a nice television, collection of dvds, but also a small bookshelf. I feel pulled to it and examine the contents. It has a few classical texts, but also some Brautigan and Phillip K. Dick.

"Okay, two glasses of water," he says as he reenters. "And one first aid kit." He sits down on the couch and pats the spot beside him. I walk over a sit down, letting the couch envelop me. My lower back feels itchy, and I sit up to scratch it. My skin feels rough under my touch. I sigh a little. It must be scabs from something. Emmett watches me, and then curls around.

"Hey, lift up your shirt a little."

"Emmett, it's probably—"

"Stop being a baby."

I glare at him, but then turn my back to him and lift my shirt up. I feel the lightest caress against my skin, and my face blushes.

"Looks like small scratches, but they sure bled a lot," he explains. He pulls my shirt down. "Head wound first." Smoothly he runs his hands up my body, to lightly grip my head and tilt it backwards. I can feel him move about on the couch, getting a better angle. His hands brush through my hair and I flinch when he touches a raised spot of torn skin. I hear a whispered apology and try to keep myself from nodding in response.

He harrumphs and his hands disappear from my hair to be placed gently on my shoulders. "It may be a good idea for you to take a shower to get all that dried blood out. It'll be easier to see where to apply antiseptic."

I turn around to look at him, considering.

"I can wash your clothes while you're here. I'm going to make you stay at least four hours, to see if you start getting sleepy or nauseated."

"Yeah fine," I say, tired of fighting with anyone tonight.

"Hey, you could put back on those clothes which were on the floor of the men's bathroom—"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. Thanks," I offer a small smile.

He takes a big breath, and stands up. He offers me his hand and pulls me up with a little too much force. I stumble into him, and he takes a step back against the coffee table.

"Whoa, steady there," he says as we sway a little. I feel my cheeks redden again, and glance up to see his looking a little pink. He grabs my hand and pulls me back to a dark hallway. We pass through a bedroom, which is surprisingly tidy, and enter the bathroom.

He flicks the light switch and a spacious bathroom with shower is revealed. The mirrors intensify the lighting, but the brightness is broken up by burgundy and dark green towels and bathmats.

He partly closes the door behind us. "You can use my robe," he gestures at the hanging article of terrycloth affixed to an over-the-door hook, "I'll try to find something that will fit you." He rubs the back of his neck. "Help yourself to shampoo and stuff. Umm, make yourself at home."

He disappears, and I go about my business. It takes a few tries to turn the shower on and get it to the right temperature, but I manage. I step under the flow of hot water and feel the tension melt away from my body. I concentrate on the feel of it, the way the steam tastes heavy in my mouth and lungs, rather than letting my mind drift back to the events of the past twenty-four hours. Surprisingly, the thought of Emmett taking a shower in this very space also entices my thoughts. As my imagination starts to run along the idea of what his body looks like under his clothes, I hear a knock.

"Jasper, I'm leaving some drawstring pants and a wife-beater here for you." His voice calls inside and I feel my face turn bright red.

"Yeah, thanks." I squeak.

"You okay in there?" He sounds worried. "I'll get you some Tylenol for when you come out."

"I'm okay. Thank you." Gratefully, my voice resumes its normal tenor.

I hear the door shut, and begin to wash my hair. I pull flakes of red out from the strands. The water stings me, and I resist the temptation to cry from the sharp sensation. After feeling sufficiently clean, I step out and dry off. His towels are huge and luxuriously thick and soft. I, all too soon, am mostly dry. I pull up large and long flannel pajama bottoms, tying the drawstring tight over my hips. I put on the white undershirt, grimacing at the appearance of my bare arms. My left hand drifts up my right arm, inspecting the purple, blue, and green spots on my skin. I will myself not to look at the circles around my wrist. I shrug on the robe over my body, also tying it around my waist. It, like the other articles of clothing, swamps me, and I feel like a child wearing his father's clothes.

I walk out of the steamy bathroom, through the bedroom and hallway. I can feel the bottoms of the pants drag around my feet with each step.

I hear Emmett's voice talking to someone as I reach the living room. I hover back in the hallway, overly aware of what I'm wearing. I hear a snap and see Emmett stand up and start to pace. He sees me standing in the mouth of the hallway and startles.

"Oh, hey, come on in. I just ordered pizza," he explains. He seems really nervous. "You aren't vegan or something?"

"No, I eat meat," I say as I reenter the living room and sit back down in my spot. I notice the TV is on, and it's playing a nineties soft rock mix. I chuckle to myself.

"Okay, let's see the damage," Emmett sits back down behind me and I feel him guide my head again, tilting back. He opens the alcohol and puts it on a q-tip. He dabs lightly at the wounds and I hiss.

"I'm trying to be gentle." His tone is apologetic.

"I know. Sorry. It stings like hell."

"I bet," he replies. He runs his fingers through my hair, inspecting for any missed cuts. The feeling is soothing.

"It looks good. Now, let's see your back," he says.

My head whips back to look at him, but I quickly turn back around. My mind speeds trying to find a way to show him my back without removing the robe.

"It's fine," I tell the wall.

"Jas-per," he punctuates my name like a four year old. "You scratched it on a sink in the men's bathroom of an S and M club. Not the cleanest of places."

"I'll clean it later."

"It's an awkward spot and you know it. No one could clean their lower back thoroughly without just pouring alcohol over it, and that would really hurt."

"Emmett, I don't—"

"I'll be gentle."

"I don't—"

"Come on."

"I—"

He gets around me on his knees and looks up at me beseechingly. "Please? I want to know that you're okay."

I put my face into my hands. "Fine, but," I say into my fingers, "I don't want to talk about it."

The statement hangs there. Emmett pulls my hands from my face and rubs them comfortingly. "Okay, but, someday?"

"Someday." I'm surprised he isn't confused by my cryptic statement.

"Um…sit back down," I gesture behind me. He nods and gets back into his seat by half crawling, half leaning his way into it. I take a deep breath, and take off the robe, letting it pool on the couch. I can feel Emmett's hands rest on my shoulders again. One drapes down my arm, caressing. I can feel him looking at the bruises with his hands. I feel naked. I feel as if my soul is bared, here in his apartment with soft light coming in from the windows and kitchen. His hands are on my hand, pulling it gently backward.

I start crying. Warm tears fall down on my cool cheeks. I wheeze in a sob.

"Shh…I got you," Emmett says and large arms encircle me as if I'm a child. He's a barrier from the harsh, sharp, unforgiving world. He readjusts and I feel his foot and leg slide between me and the sofa back. He scoots forward at the same time as pulling me back, and I'm completely enfolded in his body.

"I don't—I don't—" I don't know how I want to finish that statement.

"Don't worry about right now. Just let it out, if you need to," he whispers into my ear.

That's all it takes. I shatter in his arms, and cry harder than all the nights I spent curled up, alone in my bed, silent tears wetting my face until dreamless sleep took me away from my painful reality.

I grab onto his arms, my hands like claws, as my body heaves sobs.

"Jasper, you—"

A sharp intake of breath interrupts his speech. One arm slides out from around me, but my hands are steadfastly glued to the other. His fingertips trace around my neck, and I realize what he is looking at.

"How did this one happen?" his voice is deathly quiet but he intones a grave seriousness.

I glance at him, no doubt eyes bloodshot and nose snotty.

I look back at the wall. My grip tightens on his arm, and I wonder if I'm leaving bruises on him like there are on me. Probably not.

"I didn't…" I begin, but don't know how to continue. "He wanted…the…" I'm not sure what to say. Power? He wanted me powerless and demeaned to the point that I was a thing to be used and abused and left behind without a second thought. It is all too much to say aloud, right now.

"Asphyxiation," I settle with that word.

He kisses the center of the nape of my neck.

"You know," he says gently, "There are ways to play with that sort of stuff, without destroying your partner."

I wipe some mucus from my nose onto my arm. I nod largely, and feel my body relax back into his. "I know. I should have stopped it a while ago. I should've told him…but he didn't listen." I take a deep shuddering breath. "I don't want to be like this. I don't want to live this life."

"Then don't," Emmett quickly adds. "I'll be here for you." He chuckles lightly to himself. "I'll be anywhere for you. I'll support you, and be whatever you need me to be."

And he was. We were friends for several months after that night. Eventually, I conceded to calling it "dating." It took me several years to heal, but Emmett was with me every step of the way: my friend, my support, my love. Occasionally he was my master, and other times he was my slave. In the end, we were partners, equal as lover and beloved.

**A/N: So, abrupt ending much? I just couldn't think of a better way to end it. Sorry, guys. Still, hope you enjoyed it. I was writing it in May/June of this year (2012). PM me for the cut abuse scene…if you want it.**

**A/N: Please review!**


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